


Dark Blue

by abo_trash



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Multi, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 18:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10622607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abo_trash/pseuds/abo_trash
Summary: She's still so upset about the night before that she doesn't even notice which cup she grabs, when he kisses her. He calls to her, as she starts up the steps, and maybe then she should have known that something was wrong. Maybe if she had looked down, then she would have noticed that the cup was the wrong one. But instead, she's so worried about Heather, about them breaking up, that she glides up the stairs and to her room. She does what she asks, even if it makes her cheeks colour brightly. He doesn't say anything when she hands over the cup, and maybe then, if she had looked, then it would have all gone differently. Instead, she just hands it over.---draino takes some time to kill you, enough that you can survive if you act quick enough. instead of freezing, veronica acts. and hopes it's fast enough.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i just... i wrote this like, a week ago? two weeks ago? as part of a writing exercise, and ive been sitting on it, because i wasnt too sure what i wanted to do with it, but i think it works well as a stand alone. its short so be forewarned. hope you enjoy.
> 
> TW: blood, vomit, and vomiting blood.

The cup goes up and Veronica can see her throat move as she swallows, taking two quick gulps in rapid succession. Then, before she's finished the rest, Heather chokes. It's a gagging, pained noise, and she drops the mug, spilling the remains of the dark blue fluid all over herself, all over the floor, and breaking the mug easily. For a moment, she watches Heather grab at her throat. Watches her fucking girlfriend choke. Then, she is in action, as quick as she could be, and drags Heather against her, J.D. all but forgotten from where he stands not ten feet away.

“Fuck! Heather, oh my god. Throw it up! Fucking throw it up!” she shrieks, watching Heather as she shakes her head and tears form in her eyes, her nails clawing at her throat. It takes no time to force her mouth open and her finger in, like she has seen Heather Duke do a million times in the bathroom after lunch, even despite Heather struggling and fighting her. Heather gags, chokes on the digit, before she pulls away from Veronica. Her hands are jerking and clawing before it comes up in a rush of red and blue, one that makes her inside turn and feel horribly sick. It shouldn't be that red. Shouldn't be blue either, but it is. And it's her fault. Without thinking, she yanks the phone off the hook, and she's already dialing the number for 911 as she pulls Heather close to her again, holding it against her ear as Heather shakes.

“You,” Heather croaks, and she shakes her head, because this wasn't her fault, wasn't what she wanted. Instead of saying that, she grips the phone that much tighter, listening to Heather gag against her, and wonders if it hurt more coming up than it did going down. She doesn't even react when more of it splatters against her shoes, coats them in gross, chunky red, and dark blue. Fuck. How much of that did Heather drink? Too much, too much. She shouldn't have drank any.

There's a voice that comes over the line, nice and clear, before she really understands what's going on. Asking what's the emergency. And she tells, without a second thought, as Heather crumples against her, gagging and groaning and choking on everything that hurt her. She looks down at her, rocks her against her slightly, and ignores the vomit on them both, ignores the blood, and ignores J.D., staring at them both like a freak show, or perhaps he just doesn't know what else to do. The operator asks her to stay on the line, and she agrees, easily. It's easy to say that of course she'll stay on the line, because she knows what it means, knows it means an ambulance is coming for Heather, and even if she doesn't have anything else to say to the woman who sits there, she can hold Heather with her free hand and ignore the way she draws in breath painfully.

How did this happen? It was supposed to be some gross hangover cure. Something horrible. Something to just make her sick to her stomach. Not something to, to… To kill. Her head swivels towards J.D., where he's still standing, still as a statue. Their eyes meet, for just a moment, before he's running, running towards the door, running away from what he's done, and she doesn't even move to stop him. She's more interested in Heather, who's buried her face against her shoulder and letting out this pained little sobs as she chokes and gags and spits out blue and red. J.D. isn't her problem right now. Heather is.

Besides… She knows where he lives. He can't escape her for eternity. She's been to his house. Knows who his father is. He can't escape, even if he runs now, and she hides her face in Heather's hair, squeezing her close as the woman she's called mumbles something that's supposed to be soothing, but is ignored in exchange of listening to the weak little sobs Heather gives. She mumbles about how it burned more than her first time, so soft Veronica almost doesn't hear it, and she can only squeeze Heather closer, not trying to think of what that really meant.

“I'm surprised you can still talk,” she mumbles, and Heather doesn't say anything, just shakes in her arms, like she's cold, or she's in shock, or maybe it's just because she's crying. She can't see her face, can't tell what's going on enough to ask, and her shoulder is wet from spit up blood and drain cleaner, so she isn't even really sure of if there are tears staining it. There's quiet, besides the voice in her ear assuring her that the ambulance will be there soon, and she barely finds it in herself to speak to Heather again. “J.D. did this… He… He switched the cups. You know I wouldn't do this to you, right? You know I...”

“Shut up,” Heather croaks, all venom in her voice, or maybe that's the dripping drain cleaner that's all over them both. She's grabbing and squeezing against Veronica, head against her neck, and she can almost tell that Heather believes her. Either that or she's going to kill her and just needs the comfort that the still body provides for now. She hates that it reminds her of how Heather is after she cums, when her legs are still shaking and she's letting out these heavy pants that flitter and make her chest squeeze as she hugs Veronica close. She's still hugging her close now, but for a different reason, and Veronica almost wants to laugh.

Instead, she closes her eyes, and waits. Waits for the woman in her ear to stop babbling something that's supposed to comfort her. Waits for Heather to spit up again, or choke, or something else, something she's scared of. Waits for the tell-tale wale ambulance, coming to whisk Heather away. Maybe she can ride with them to the hospital. Maybe she be there when everyone else comes to see her. Maybe she can hold her hand and join in with the hugging that are sure to come from the other two Heathers once they're all four alone again. Maybe. If nothing else, Heather is still alive, and that's what matters.


End file.
